


and i need you

by bitterins



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Holding Hands, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, M/M, i guess.. there's some angst but it's really really mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 21:50:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17795375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitterins/pseuds/bitterins
Summary: To rely on others is no easy task. Chan and Changbin both know this. On a late night after practice, they realize it more.





	and i need you

**Author's Note:**

> hello this is my debut fic and it's because vesper dared me to but ALSO because changchan is Good..... i wrote this in like?? a few weeks which is rlly good for me.... ANYWAY i hope you enjoy

Changbin groans and slams the play button on his laptop and then groans again. It sounds wrong, no matter what notes he tweaks or how he splits the beats. He tries something else, which only makes it sound worse. 

Discouraged, he slouches in his seat and stretches his legs and arms. His joints crack, and he counts at least seven more sounds when he arches his spine. He wonders if there’s a way he could sample them to use in a track, then quickly discards the idea as one borne from too little sleep. His eyes are heavy but he doesn’t want to call it a day till this song is finished. At least this part. 

He jolts up and frowns, cringing. That sounded like Chan. For a second he almost thought it was. Chan’s probably asleep by now, thank god. For all the all-nighters he pulls, he has no qualms with calling out his own members for doing the same. Changbin glances at the clock, trying not to squint. Maybe he _has_ been working too long—is the small hand between three and four? 

“Shit,” he says. He’s not allowed to curse around the younger members, but alone like this, he can do whatever he wants. It’s freeing in a way, lonely in more. He likes being around his members. Without them the room feels almost suffocating, like there’s too much space yet none at all. When it’s empty and quiet, some thoughts can be almost deafening. 

And there he goes, off on one of those tangents that he should avoid. Better to focus on finishing this so he can sleep and stop thinking. He sighs and brings his feet up on his chair, hunching over the table. 

_Binnie-yah, you look even shorter like that._ That’s what Chan said. Changbin laughed and bent over more for laughs—in particular, Chan’s laugh. Such a loud, wheezy bark, annoying and endearing all at once. A small, selfish part of Changbin wishes that Chan were awake and here to serve as a distraction. Or to help, if he really needed.

Anyway. He tries a few other solutions for a rough half-hour. He hums the section to himself over and over, and even looks up some things on the internet, which is something he wouldn’t want anyone to know. He knows he’s being hard on himself. It’s not even bad; maybe some would venture to call it good. But it’s not right. 

He fools around with a few scraps of paper (this desk is a mess and a paper crane or two won’t worsen it) to take his mind off the task at hand. He folds them down into boats and birds because there’s something beautiful about the idea of sending your thoughts away to someone, and scribbles random lyrics on them—nothing explicitly romantic, even though his mind fills with bold confessions. The words he writes are more vague, like _place your hand in mine and tell me it’ll be okay_ , like _I swear we’ll always be together_. Like _I don’t say it till I can’t but I need you_. He knows who they’re for. He wonders how that person would weave the lyrics in between chords and samples, if they’d try something tender and sweet or if they’d juxtapose the soft meanings with hard beats. 

The practice room door squeaks open with a slight click from the handle. 

Changbin almost stabs himself with the ballpoint pen. “Holy sh—” and seeing who it is, cuts himself short. He brings a hand to his chest, using his other to scoot his arts and crafts project aside. “You scared me.”

“Changbin-ah, what are you doing here?” Chan asks, voice tired yet firm. Changbin could ask the same, but he doesn’t. He takes a breath to calm his rioting heart and motions toward the computer.

“Music.” Taking Chan’s appearance in—the rippling curls of his hair, his kangaroo slippers, the dark undereye circles standing out against otherwise fair skin—Changbin gathers up the courage to add, “You know, hyung, what you do all the time.” It’s something of a backhanded compliment and even in the wee hours Chan knows it. He doesn’t react other than a mumble of thanks, tilting his head like his neck is too tired to support it straight.

They stand there a moment. Changbin has an ugly black streak on the flat of his palm from the pen’s ink. Chan’s here and Changbin doesn’t know what to say. He hates asking for help. Chan looks like something out of a dream when he rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, yawning. “Get to sleep soon.” He’s wearing these fleecy, powder-blue pajamas. They have sheep on them. They’re cute.

The lack of sleep, along with his still-slightly-shaken state of mind, and those pajamas, finally makes him crack. “Hyung, do you think you could help me with this?” he blurts. Under any other circumstances, he would tough it out alone, but he’s too tired to do that now. And Chan’s right here. 

Chan’s like a ghost in the dimmed lights, more so when he wears pastels and has his hair dyed so light. He travels like one, too. One moment he’s standing before Changbin, and the next he’s right beside him. “What’s the matter?” He sounds so tired. 

Changbin contemplates asking Chan why he’s up, but he already knows the answer. He takes his seat again, rearranging papers on the desk to best hide his lyrics. Illuminated by the light of the laptop, Chan’s skin looks almost too pale. Changbin wonders, not for the first time and not for the last, if he’s eating enough, getting enough nutrition. He works too hard sometimes. 

Maybe that’s how it is for caregivers, who need to protect and nurture and ask, “Are you okay?”, to make sure the others are getting sleep, living and having fun while doing so, not stressed out over promotions or life or whatever else an idol could hurt about. Caregivers forget to worry about themselves. It’s easier to care for others than for your own self. Chan and he are both proof.

Chan leans over Changbin’s shoulder, resting his cold palm on the back of Changbin’s neck for a half-second before he removes it. Changbin shivers, but says nothing except, “These three seconds sound wrong and I don’t know how to fix them.” He turns the volume up slightly, hits the play button. He replays it again when Chan frowns, then again. 

“You hear it?” he asks, thinking that Chan’s profile should be painted in oil on canvas and hung in the Louvre. 

Chan nods, squints at the screen like that will magically make the problem disappear. “Hey, can I sit?” He gestures at the metal chair Changbin’s been sitting in for the past three hours.

“Yeah, sure,” Changbin says. He’s about to stand up when Chan shakes his head. 

“We can share.” Chan waves his hand a bit, a gesture that means something like _Scoot over so I can sit with you_ , and Changbin does, trying to take as little space as possible. Chan’s thigh is warm where it presses against Changbin’s, not like his hands. Changbin didn’t know how much he needed warmth on his body till now.

Chan plays the snippet and bobs his head, humming as his brow creases in thought. He mutters something under his breath, looking to the ceiling. “Can I try something?”

“Hyung, that’s why I asked. Work your magic.” Changbin shifts slightly and watches as Chan fiddles with the pitch and the notes.

“It’s not magic—just instinct. Like, feel it in your chest, you know?” Chan clacks at the keyboard experimentally till something that’s not terrible jumps out of the speaker. He messes with it for a moment more before nodding “Let’s try this.” He hits the play button again and cocks his head to listen. 

Changbin does, too. It sounds less grating, more fluid. Chan might call it instinct but Changbin still stands by his previous statement: it’s magical, how Chan plays around with the song for a bit and something fresh and heartfelt pops out. “Hyung, how’d you do that?” Changbin glances at Chan to gauge just how tired he is, but Chan has this look in his eyes, most of the weariness gone from them, that says he wouldn’t mind staying up a bit longer.

Chan laughs, dimples showing. “Like I said, it’s mostly instinct.” He pats Changbin on the back gently, warm gesture and cold palms. “Also, a lot of experience. And failure.” Chan winces slightly when he says the last word, and then he smiles even brighter. 

Changbin purses his lips. “I saw that. You winced.” He hooks his arm in Chan’s and pouts, exaggerated but not necessarily fake. “Hyung, you can tell me things,” he whines, high-pitched. Sometimes it’s hard even for himself to tell how much of the aegyo is real and how much isn’t, but not this time. 

Chan offers him an apologetic smile. He has nothing to look sorry for. “Thanks.” He keeps the link tight, hands clasped across his stomach. “It’s hard sometimes. To keep it all together.” Team, music, self. Changbin understands what he means, but he doesn’t know what to say.

Chan’s warm, and Changbin leans against his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“We joke about this, but a lot of the time, I can’t sleep.” That’s why he’s here tonight. Even if he’s not saying it, Changbin can feel it. 

“So tell me,” Changbin murmurs in English, eliciting a chuckle from Chan that seems to reverberate under his skin, floating somewhere in his gut. 

“Yeah, that.” He sighs and Changbin feels his shoulders shift with the breath. Aside from the soft whirring of Chan’s computer, all is silent. Changbin forgot how loud thoughts could be when there wasn’t anything to serve as a distraction. How much he wants to hold Chan.

He whispers the first line of Insomnia, then asks, “Why can’t you sleep?” 

“Too many thoughts,” Chan says quietly. “‘Am I a good leader,’ ‘Is the team okay,’ ‘How am I’, things like that.” Chan sighs again. He’s muted tonight, almost too much. He looks so soft, fragile. 

Changbin finds Chan’s hand and holds it, ignoring the temperature in favor of admiring how neatly they fit together. He squeezes twice with his own numb fingers. “Hyung, you’re amazing.”

“Thank you. I can’t believe that, though.” 

Changbin offers him a small grin.“You saying I’m a liar?”

“Just that you and the others, and Stays, are too nice.” Chan closes his eyes, tightening his grip on Changbin’s hand. 

“We’re telling the truth, hyung.” Changbin wonders how far he’ll spill his feelings tonight. “You’re doing great. I’m—sometimes I’m bad at saying it to your face, but you do so much for this group. We wouldn’t be Stray Kids without you.”

Chan opens his eyes, softens a bit, a hint of a smile curling his mouth. “Thanks.”

“And not even just with music, or rap. Or even singing. You work so hard. You _lead_ us.” He could say so much more about Chan. How he makes them laugh, how he’s as sure as the earth rotating around the sun, how he’s there and he cares and he’s never let any of them ever question where their place is on the team. And it’s so much more than just them: he’s got his family and his fans and he treats them the same way, gentle and laughing and sweet. Changbin can’t explain what Chan means to them, how much he comforts with a single phrase of reassurance. 

_Hey, Changbin-ah, this is really good._

_Binnie-binnie is our main rapper!_

_Ahh, Changbin’s rap here is something else._

No, Changbin can’t say anything. His throat’s too tight. He squeezes Chan’s hand again.

Chan’s been silent but he finally speaks. “Thank you.” He squeezes back, looking for a moment like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Changbin mutters after a pause. The length of time he’s been awake is finally catching up to him. Chan’s blurry around the edges, like something out of a dream, or like someone hit him with a sparkly vaporwave filter.

“You’re amazing too, you know.” Chan pats Changbin’s thigh with their clasped hands. “You have a great ear. Most people wouldn’t have noticed anything wrong with that audio clip.” 

“Is that all I’m good at?”

Chan scoffs, but it’s playful. Even with sleepy vision Changbin can see his smile. “You have too many talents for me to list them all.” 

“Aw, hyung.” Changbin could blush if he wasn’t so tired. 

Chan’s cheeks are rosy, but maybe that’s the vaporwave filter in Changbin’s eyes. “The only thing is that you’re too stubborn. You should have asked me sooner,” he says.

“I don’t want to be a bother.” There it is. He doesn’t like bothering people, needing them. 

“I know, but I’m never bothered by you. I’m here.”

He’s here. He’s always here when they need, but who’s there for him? Maybe Woojin, or Bambam, or even Minho, but Changbin worries all the same. What if no one’s there?

“Hyung,” he starts, “I know you don’t like this, but you can talk to me whenever you need. It’s okay.” Changbin’s comforting them both. People need people, no matter if he likes admitting it to himself. “We need each other.”

“You and I,” Chan murmurs. He yawns, trying to keep it quiet, but it’s a yawn that means he’ll be knocked out less than five minutes from now. Sleepily, he runs his thumb along the back of Changbin’s hand. “We do. Need each other. Thank you.” 

He seems to mull something over, and then he rests his head on Changbin’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded. “So if you ever want help with anything you need to talk to me, okay, Binnie-yah? It’s not good to keep everything to yourself.” Changbin nods silently. Chan says it so earnestly, it’s easy to remember all the reasons they adore him. 

“Yeah.” Changbin pauses. Chan’s already breathing like someone in deep sleep. For a moment, he contemplates waking him up so he can sleep in a proper bed, but decides not to. Chan’s slept on worse, and Changbin would like to consider himself a relatively comfortable pillow. It’s warmer like this, anyway.

He thinks of what Chan said. They need each other. Chan needs him.

_And I need you._ It sounds like it could be lyrics to a song, romantic in the vaguest ways. Maybe one day he’ll write it into a rap, into chords, tied together with the beat of his heart, along with everything else he’d like to tell Chan. 

Till then, he’s content to rest there, Chan’s soft breathing in his ear.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to harass me @ [my writing twt](https://twitter.com/bitterins) or my [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/bitterins) !! thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed, and any sort of feedback/concrit is appreciated!!


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